


Hypnotic

by Ceruleanblues00



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: AU, Caroline and Enzo BrOTP, Caroline and Klaus try to outdo each other, Caroline is badass, Enzo is a smartass, F/M, Klaroline, Klaus can't get enough of Caroline's ass, They love stealing stuff, Those damn dimples, sexual tension ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceruleanblues00/pseuds/Ceruleanblues00
Summary: AU. "Perhaps you and I could discuss our heists over dinner sometime," he echoed the words first spoken to her those months before. "And then settle our differences over dessert, preferably with you spread out on my bed and writhing underneath me."





	Hypnotic

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is another repost from FF. It's also one of my favourites to write because I'm always a sucker for mystery and action stories.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xXx  
> CeruleanBlues

She paused in the dim hallway with her back pressed to the wall, her cornflower-blue eyes darting up to the surveillance camera that had been strategically placed at the crevice of the ceiling, its red light blinking actively. Frowning, she began a quick scan of the paintings lining up along the corridor, hoping to catch anything that was amiss. Her attention to detail paid off as she spotted what appeared to be a gap in one of the artworks; a panel that stood out like a sore thumb amongst the Renaissance pieces.

_**Frise des archers.**  
c. 510 BC_

The edge of her lips twitched in amusement.

It was a replica, obviously, and a very sloppy one at that. Anyone with a semblance of sense would know that the original was sitting safe and sound in the Louvre. Whichever artist was responsible for creating such sub-standard shit apparently wasn’t commissioned sufficiently; unless of course it was completely intentional. Squinting slightly in the low light, she caught the imperceptible crack between the resin and the miniscule glint of reflective surface.

A laser grid.

Very clever, and very fitting; she could almost appreciate the symmetry.

“Bingo,” the blonde whispered. “Crimson net located, Enzo.”

“Good job, gorgeous,” a masculine voice spoke into her earpiece in that lazy British drawl. The familiar term of endearment had her rolling her eyes. “I’ve just disabled the surveillance camera, but I’m still trying to access his vault security codes. This guy is meticulous and clearly knows his stuff, though. His systems are separate and individually encrypted, so I have like a million firewalls to crack.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured. “Just focus on the vault. I know what to do.”

“Alright, be careful.”

She smirked. “Aren’t I always?”

Cliché of a method as it may be, powder was as effective as it got, but she was nothing if not a master at covering her tracks, and white flakes against the maroon carpet just wouldn’t do. They were professionals, both experts in their specific fields, and if Enzo was a tech and gadgets whiz, then she was everything else that made them a perfect team. Snatching the bottle of dissolvable powder spray from her side pocket, she peeked from the corner; quickly ensuring that the video feed was indeed terminated, before stepping out to do the job.

Beautiful.

There was something about standing before a web of red lines, meant to kill anything and everything that moved, that had her body humming. She had always enjoyed a challenge. Ever since she was a little kid and playing in the sandbox, Caroline Forbes never could resist building the best castle on the playground. Her thirst at defeating the odds only grew as she got older. Heists were not that much different, she reckoned.

It was just bigger.

More dangerous.

Thrilling.

The rush of adrenalin, the satisfying victory; they were all pretty addictive.

Her own personal aphrodisiac.

**I wanna be on the front line**  
**Knotted up suit ties**  
**Talkin' like a headstrong mama**

A quick calculation of the lasers’ trajectories meant that she couldn’t deflect them without risks of damage to the mansion and the extensive art collection. She was a thief, but she was also a connoisseur of the arts. Some of these were no doubt assets and would prove very valuable in another decade or so, and if they were successful that day, she figured she might just come back for seconds.

“Someone was really creative with the lasers,” she muttered.

Enzo chuckled. “Maybe all those years of cheerleading would finally be worth it.”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffed; even as she backed up a few feet to properly gauge her moves. “Me? A cheerleader?”

“I did love watching you jump around in that mini skirt,” her partner-in-crime snickered, keyboard clacking in the background while he multi-tasked. “Gave me a permanent hard-on.”

“I was undercover,” she hissed. “That old fart’s daughter was in the squad and I had no choice. I don’t recall you doing much to help.”

“That mascot suit gave me rashes for weeks, thank you very much,” he retorted.

“Shut up, Lorenzo.”

She didn’t hesitate; didn’t even bat an eyelash as she sprinted down the hallway. With a trained precision, she leapt between the deadly laser beams. Her upper torso cleared the trap seamlessly, but she knew that her feet might not be so lucky, and those Prada boots didn’t come cheap. Right at the last second, she twisted her hips, her toes barely skimming a red line before her arms shot out to break her fall. She landed gracefully, executing a back handspring with a triumphant grin on her face.

“Show-off,” she heard Enzo mumble in her ear.

“Your petty jealousy issues are unbecoming, you know,” she quipped back playfully. “Now, where do I go from here?”

“Take a right,” he said. “It’s the door at the end of the hallway. I’ve already disabled the surveillance camera there.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyebrows sprang up at the sight of the large 24-bolt vault door—not exactly the stereotypical art collector’s fail-safe method of keeping their prized possessions—but then again, the Mikaelson Manor wasn’t exactly a stereotypical place for a multi-millionaire to live in. There was sorely also a lack of guards around the premises, making it almost too easy to enter the gates. Was it possible that the idiot was too confident in his own skin to need additional protection? She was even hoping to run into a Doberman—or five—as she scaled the walls, and was rather disappointed when she didn’t encounter a single canine. That in itself should raise suspicions, if it weren’t for the intricate levels of security clearance and the maze of corridors leading them to where his crowned jewels were currently held in.

“This guy is old school,” she whistled. “The last time I saw a vault like this was at the Winona National Bank. Is he using a four movement time lock?”

“If only we’re so lucky,” Enzo sighed wistfully. “Hang on, I’m still trying to crack the code.”

Caroline took the time to properly examine the steel-reinforced concrete door—circular with a four-point pressure system—and wondered if it would be easier to just torch the damn thing with a thermal lance. She moved closer to study the biometric reader for recent thumbprints, noticing immediately that it was one of those obnoxious details that needed all five fingers, and huffed when she realized it was clean.

“What’s taking you so long?” she grumbled.

“The password resets every ten seconds,” Enzo informed her curtly. “Unless of course, I figure out the key password. If I get even one single digit wrong, this whole mansion would go on lockdown.”

“So much for old school, then.”

She could hear the smile in his next sentence. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You know I’ll bail you out if you get caught.”

“Well, let’s try not to get caught to begin with, shall we?”

There was an audible click, followed by a long beep, and then the screeching sound of metal as the door unlocked. The wheel turned, and Caroline instinctively took a step back, one leather-gloved hand poised to grab for her weapon if needed be.

“Milady,” Enzo crooned. “After you.”

She wanted nothing more than to take her own sweet time admiring the vast displays of artefacts, but time was obviously of the essence, so she headed straight towards the one thing she was there for, not that it was particularly difficult to find. It sat, pristine and untouched by bare human hands, right at the epicenter of it all, and Caroline felt her breath hitch as her gaze landed on a magnificent piece of Russia’s history.

“Shit…”

_**The Nécessaire Egg.**  
c. 1889_

Designed as an etui to contain a woman’s toiletries, it was one of the fifty-two jeweled Tsar Imperial Fabergé eggs made for Alexander III. After the 1917 revolution, the egg was seized, and was last known in 1952, said to be lost with its current whereabouts unknown.

Not to Caroline, it wasn’t.

“I seriously hope you’re not just going to stand around and ogle it for the entire night.” Enzo’s voice jolted her back to the present.

“You just ruined the moment, Enzo.”

“I’m sorry, do you two need a moment to make out while I turn around?”

She wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response as she swiftly began cutting a hole in the glass casing. Gingerly, she reached in and lifted the weighty treasure off its cradle. After wrapping a thick cloth around it, Caroline slid the jewel-encrusted egg into a sack, secured it to a carabiner and closed the vault.

“Enzo?”

“What is it, gorgeous?”

“Mission accomplished.”

 

Two days later, she was rudely awoken by Enzo’s loud string of profanities broadcasted throughout the entire house. It was a mangle of words, accompanied by indignant stutters, and God, who pissed in his bowl of cereal? Caroline groaned as she hauled herself out of the comfortable bed and padded down the stairs to a rather comical spectacle.

“Fucking hell! How was that bastard—it’s not possible—that son of a bitch—”

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

He stopped in his tantrum long enough to turn to her, his features pinched in fury. “The Nécessaire Egg is gone.”

“What?” she spat out. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

“That’s what it means, Caroline,” he snapped. “Someone broke in, took the fucking egg and left without a single trace.”

“How is that possible?” she shrieked. “Our firewalls would take days to crack, and any tiny movement in our vault would trigger our shadow detectors. Even the hordes of Genghis Khan couldn’t have penetrated our security. Are there any footages?”

“He intercepted the feeds and put the clips on loop,” Enzo bit out. “The only thing I’ve managed to find out was the time that he had breeched the surveillance.”

She was positively livid. “And what time was that?”

“Two thirty-four.”

“I was still awake!” she fumed. “Damn it, we need to find out who did it, because if the person could get past us once, he or she can do it again. Can you trace the hack back to its source?”

Enzo ran his fingers exasperatedly through his jet-black hair. “I’ll try again. Maybe there’s something that I’ve missed out.”

“It could be anybody, Enzo,” she said in a clipped tone. “Hell, it could’ve even been the freaking Russian government for fuck’s sake. I need to know who we’re up against.”

“I’m on it.”

He retreated to his man pad then—she called it his Geek Lab—and she was left figuring out what her next step would be. This was a first for them; nobody had ever successfully trespassed on their property and lived to tell a good story about it. She wasn’t a killer, per se, but she wasn’t forgiving either, and everybody in the business who had ever heard of her knew that.

Whoever had stolen from her had some serious balls.

Fuck, maybe Katherine knew something she didn’t.

In a rare bout of childish insolence, she stormed back towards her bedroom, eager to call her most reliable contact. It was going to cost her, of course, but whatever, Caroline was willing to sacrifice that Palladino handbag for some answers.

“Hello, love.”

She gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin, and whirled around.

Perched comfortably on the windowsill was a man—an undeniably attractive man—with a head full of dirty blonde curls and a face that was carved by the Gods themselves. His lips, ripe and so fucking kissable, curved up into a wolfish grin, punctuated by the dimples peering from beneath his day-old scruff; he was staring at her intently, practically devouring her inch by glorious inch as his piercing blue eyes roamed freely down the length of her scant pyjamas-clad body, pinning her with such marauding fierceness, she found herself unable to look away.

“You can’t be here,” she rasped.

He rose to his full height, hands clasped behind his back in a manner so nonchalant, it was a stark contrast from the tension thickening in the constricting space. “It’s funny how your first question wasn’t to inquire as to who I am.”

An accent.

Of course.

Years working with Enzo hadn’t done anything to build her immunity to it.

“I don’t care who you are,” she stiffly told him. “But I think it’s best that you leave at once before I call the cops on you.”

His smugness grew, tinged with a hint of amusement. “And tell them what, exactly?” he taunted. “That someone broke in and stole a priceless artefact that didn’t belong to you?”

The colour drained from her features when he produced the piece of Russian treasure seemingly from thin air and held it up to the light, its jewels winking mockingly at her.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” the intruder intoned, a slightly husky quality lacing his words. “Alexander III presented this to his wife during Easter Day of 1889, but you already know that; as I’m sure you’re also aware of the fact that one of the paintings sitting in your vault is a complete fake.”

“What?” she bristled.

“The panel you have of the Ghent Altarpiece,” he smoothly explained. “You do realize that it’s a copy, don’t you?”

“That’s not possible.”

His smarminess was seriously grating on her nerves. “Oh, but it is.”

“And how do you know that?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Because I’m the only one who knows where the original piece is.”

She narrowed her eyes, assessing the truth behind his declaration, only to come up completely empty. He was either an incredible poker player, or a terrible secret keeper. “Who are you?”

“Ah…” he uttered on an exhale. “Now that’s the million-dollar question isn’t it? Tell me, sweetheart, do you just go breaking into people’s houses without knowing who you’re stealing from, or am I just special?”

**Gotta picture in your wallet**  
**Makin' me a habit**  
**Wearin' your vintage t-shirt**

She shouldn’t have been so surprised. “You’re Klaus Mikaelson.”

The illusive heir.

Very carefully, he set the Nécessaire Egg down on her duvet. She was already conjuring up a million and one scenarios to snatch it away from his possession. Distractions, violence, anything under the roof that didn’t involve blowing his head up with a damn bazooka.

“You know, I’m actually impressed that you’ve managed to achieve what so many before you had failed. I have to admit that I really enjoyed that dive you did through my laser grid. Maybe I’ll keep you alive just to study your techniques.”

She stiffened at his implications, her chin jutting out defiantly. “Don’t forget, I can kill you just as easily too.”

He sauntered the distance, the gait of a predator, and conveniently invaded on her personal space. Their noses were inches away, and she fought feebly against the dizziness as his musky, masculine scent overwhelmed her senses. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, love. In fact, I’ll take that as a challenge. Perhaps you and I could discuss our heists over dinner sometime, and then settle our differences over dessert, preferably with you spread out on my bed and writhing underneath me.”

Klaus’ brazenness irked her more than she cared to admit, only because she realized that she didn’t hate it as much as she ought to. If anything, his explicit ways sent a delicious shiver running down her spine and an embarrassing rush of arousal pooling in her core. The proximity was intoxicating; she was fast drowning in an abyss of lustful headiness, and was in desperate need of some oxygen in her lungs.

“I’m too smart to be seduced by you, Klaus,” she hissed.

“Well, that’s why I like you, Caroline.”

The way her name rolled off his tongue—like honey dripping down her throat—ignited tiny bursts of fireworks deep in her gut. He was the damn devil in disguise.

Seconds passed in silence, their eyes remained interlocked, gazes unwavering, but Caroline would rather sell her soul than allow herself to falter first. Whatever the case, she wasn’t going to be the one to back down. Come hell or high water, she was rising to the top. If Klaus had to gouge her eyeballs out of their sockets, then so be it, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

And neither was he.

A cacophony of noises jolted them back to reality. They pulled back simultaneously, the abruptness making her slightly off-kilter, until she registered what sounded like a clanking of pots and pans from the kitchen. Cursing through gritted teeth, Caroline clenched her fists to her sides, mentally counting to ten before throwing the bedroom door open.

“Enzo!” she yelled. “What the fuck is that?”

“I’m in the mood for some spaghetti,” he replied. “Would you like some?”

“No!”

“Suit yourself, gorgeous.”

By the time she turned back around, Klaus Mikaelson was already gone; the Imperial artefact no longer on the bed, without a trace, as if he hadn’t even been there at all.

That night, she might or might not have dreamt of him; she couldn’t have been certain, but all Caroline knew was that she slept like a baby surrounded by the faint tinges of his heady cologne still lingering in the air.

 

The next time Caroline ran into him was at a classic car auction in Monaco. 

She wasn’t all that interested—vehicular theft was too much of a hassle, and not worth the effort, quite honestly—and gushing over immaculate restoration works was more Enzo’s speed anyway, but she was there to follow a lead. Katherine had tipped her off about a missing Vermeer painting, and it was an opportunity that she couldn’t afford to miss. 

Her eyes wandered leisurely around the crowd of elitists—mostly men in their late forties who were willing to spend an obscene amount of money on something they wouldn’t even drive on the road, dressed in pressed designer suits and Italian-made shoes, sipping on champagne that they probably didn’t even enjoy; an occasional trophy wife looking bored out of her mind, some privileged douchebags in flashy Ray Bans and loafers, and that Stan Lee look-a-like who seemed ready to keel over—and swore to puncture some tyres if her partner didn’t return in the next minute or so.

Being in a tank full of testosterone was more tolerable with a chaperone nearby.

And then, something shifted.

She felt his commanding presence before she actually saw him, looming, just begging for her to turn around. Her heart sped up; the anticipation was a torturous slow burn until he came up right behind her and sensually slid one hand over the swell of her hip. Asserting the slightest pressure, he pulled her back flushed up against the hard planes of his front, his scorching heat radiating through the wool of his tailored coat, and she had to suppress the moan threatening to depart from her lips.

**Tie ribbons on ya top hat**  
**Tellin' me I'm all that**  
**Just like the girls from ya home town**

“I genuinely hope that you’re not planning to steal the car that I intend to bid on.”

His breath was hot against her skin, and she was positive he could feel her pulse thrum beneath his touch.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “A 1958 Lister-Jaguar? It looks like a taffy-pulled Herbie.”

He chuckled, and it sounded so foreign to her, it was practically exotic. “Never underestimate a real classic, love. This prototype is worth more than most Porsches in the market.”

“I’m confused here,” she mused out loud. “Are you actually discouraging or encouraging me to steal this?”

Klaus leaned in impossibly closer, the soft bristles sprinkled on his cheek scratching tantalizingly across her jaw. His fingers flexed around the curve of her waist, massaging slow circles into her flesh, and Caroline had to bite on her lower lip to stifle the whimper of desire bubbling in her chest.

“If you’re looking for the Vermeer painting, you can forget it.”

As though she was suddenly doused in a bucket of cold ice, Caroline ripped herself out of his hold and spun around to glare at his pompous face. How he came to know of her motives was beyond her, but she would be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of catching her off guard.

“A Vermeer painting at a car auction?” she asked incredulously, hoping her years as a drama major would be enough to fool him. Arching a perfectly-sculpted brow, she raised the flute of champagne up to her mouth to take a sip. “I highly doubt that, Mr. Mikaelson.”

“I know you don’t take me for a fool, Ms. Forbes.”

Alright then, if he wanted to play that game, then so could she.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re the only one in this room who knows where its exact location is?”

He regarded her in that same calculated way he always did, as if he was trying to figure out a piece of her puzzle. “That would’ve been ideal, however, I’ll have to disappoint you on that. There are exactly five people in attendance here who knows where that painting is.”

“And are you going to tell me who they are?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he crooned. “I’d say the hunt is more pleasurable when you earn your kill, don’t you agree?”

“Of all the times to be poetic, Klaus, you have to pick this one,” she harrumphed.

His grin turned roguish, those irresistible pair of dimples distracting every semblance of coherence she might have left.

“Send my regards to Katherine, would you, love?”

Later, when the moon glowed ivory against the velvet sky, and she was left to her devices, Caroline fell into bed still donning her ridiculously expensive dress. Her shoes had been haphazardly kicked aside, her feet were aching, and she desperately needed a shower, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove her clothes. It wasn’t until the next morning, when she woke up that she realized her duvet smelled of remnants of him, and that there was a strange pang of disappointment in her gut when she lifted her eyelids and he wasn’t there beside her.

 

She definitely hadn’t expected to see him in Cairo; on a yacht, no less, under the beating sun, looking more relaxed than she had ever known him to be. Leaning casually against the railing, the wind in his sandy blonde hair with a hip flask in one hand, she could almost believe that he was there for anything other than to thwart her efforts again.

Enzo had gone off to flirt with a voluptuous redhead with blatant daddy issues, and Caroline wasn’t even going to bother reminding him why that was a bad idea. She wasn’t his Goddamn babysitter.

Klaus’ stoic expression morphed at the sight of her approaching. His blue eyes lit up, full lips cracking into that permanent trademark smirk of his, and it took her a moment to remember why she was walking up to him to begin with instead of running in the opposite direction. He was a wild card—an odd canon—who was unpredictable in his predictability. The way he worked was a little unorthodox, sure, but she hadn’t been able to understand his patterns yet, and Caroline didn’t like not having an advantage over her competition.

For her own benefit, she would indulge him.

“I didn’t get to congratulate you on the car.”

He took her hand in his before dropping a chaste kiss to her knuckles. She ignored the tingling sensation his gesture had caused, futile as the attempt might be. “If memory serves me, you took off in quite a haste, after all, love.”

“Something else needed my urgent attention.”

“I’ll bet,” he murmured.

“So, let me guess,” she deadpanned, switching off the false pretences between him now that it became apparent what their acquaintances truly meant. “You know why I’m here and you want the same thing, am I right? Only, of course, you’re already one step ahead of me, so you’re just here to gloat.”

“Gloating only demeans one’s character. Besides, why couldn’t it be just you that I want?”

Her stunning eyes slanted to slits. “What are you saying?”

“I fancy you,” he confessed solemnly. At her tiny scoff of disbelief, he added, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he countered. “You’re beautiful, you’re strong, you’re full of light; I enjoy you.”

“You enjoy foiling my plans.”

He shrugged and sidled nearer to her. “Well, that too, but I also enjoy your determination and stubbornness; how you constantly challenge me at every turn, keeping me on my toes. I’d like to know more about you, Caroline; your hopes, your dreams, everything you want in life.”

“And what if I don’t feel like sharing them with you?”

“Oh, you will, eventually.”

She tilted her head, taking him in. “You’re so sure of yourself?”

“I never fail.”

Taking another infinitesimal step forward, his shoulder bumped against the bare skin of hers, shocking her nerves into a frenzy. From afar, to the other guests on the deck, they simply looked like two lovebirds lost in their own quiet bubble, but to Caroline, it felt anything but. He was a man who was clearly used to getting what he wanted, who probably hadn’t been rejected once in his entire existence, and she sought to rectify that. Perhaps knocking him down a peg or two would do some good to his inflated ego.

“What do you call me breaking and entering your home to steal a certain Imperial egg, then? A fair coincidence?” she mocked faux-innocently.

“Beginner’s luck. Did it occur to you that you were successful only because I let you steal it, sweetheart?”

She laughed. “I don’t think so. Just admit it: I won and you lost, fair and square.”

“I’ll admit to nothing, love.”

“Oh, you will,” she told him, preparing to make an exit. Caroline reckoned she ought to fetch Enzo before someone’s husband came ramming his fist into her partner’s pretty face, but she couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Especially after you find out that the Florentine Diamond is, in fact, already in my possession.”

**Sweet blooded and I'm stranded**  
**See if I can stand it**  
**Drinkin' in the shallow water**

“Fucking son of a bitch.”

 

He followed her to Montmartre. She almost choked on her croissant when he casually plopped down onto the empty seat in front of to her and started ordering his own set of breakfast in fluent French. Honestly, wasn’t she supposed to be used to it by now?

“Good morning, love.”

“Good morning,” she cordially greeted, setting the newspaper down before lifting the cup of coffee to take a sip. “How nice of you to join me on this beautiful Parisian day.”

“Is that sarcasm I hear?”

Caroline inclined towards him, squinting through the sun in her eyes. “What are you doing here, Klaus?”

Oh, that shit-eating grin; she wanted to smack it right off his annoyingly attractive face.

“I would think it’s quite obvious,” he told her, removing his designer shades to reveal those stunning bottomless blue eyes. “Come on, Caroline, take a chance. Get to know me.”

She really didn’t want to consider it.

“I dare you.”

Fuck, he knew just how to hit her where she couldn’t resist: her pride.

“Careful there,” she warned, frowning, and no longer amiable to his presence. “I think you’re biting off more than you can chew.”

“And why is that?”

“We’re not friends, Klaus,” she bit out. “And I’m definitely not your flavour of the month. If you want to get to know me, you need to try a little bit harder.”

Caroline jumped to her feet and was about to toss a couple of Euros onto the table when he waved her off dismissively. “It’s on me, sweetheart.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line to fight the scathing retort from escaping, but nonetheless gave him a cursory nod because she wasn’t raised in a bloody barn. Her sheriff of a mother would be proud. Dignity still intact, she flipped her blonde tresses over her shoulders and sauntered off without another backwards glance.

 

She was almost caught in Luxembourg. Enzo had somehow or another missed out on the surveillance camera hidden in an antique vase of fresh-cut roses and it had almost cost them their mission. While he apologized profusely in her ear, Caroline was too busy—dodging in and out of narrow alleyways in an attempt to throw the authorities off her trail—to do much else other than threaten him with his balls if all went to hell and she was taken into custody.

Heavy footsteps thundered some distance behind her; there were eight men or so hot on her heels, and she was fast running out of directions until Enzo delivered the bad news of a dead end up ahead. Fuck, she was so going to kill him when she got out of this alive.

A wall loomed before her—five storeys of solid brick—with no room to escape. She skidded to a halt as her pursuers drew closer, and she quickly accepted the fact that she probably would have to fight her way out of this. With no firearms or weapons on her person—there were full-body scanners in the entrance of the Duke’s Palace, after all—she only had her mixed martial arts and combat training to rely on, though quite truthfully, she didn’t want any additional charges for assault on the cops.

There was a soft thud.

Before Caroline could react, she was being yanked backwards, slamming into a solid block of lean muscles. A large hand was clasped over her mouth to smother her protests. Strong arms encased her torso, caging her in, and instantly she was surrounded by his musky scent.

“Shhh…” he whispered. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s me.”

She had yet to decide whether Klaus Mikaelson was her saving grace or her damning downfall.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” he soothed, taking his hand away. “I’ll get you out of here. Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Enzo’s frantic voice demanded to know if she was alright, and she would’ve told him that everything was just dandy, thank you very much, if she wasn’t suddenly shoved into a tiny nook in the wall with one leg hitched around Klaus’ tapered hip. He ground down on her; the way his crotch pressed suggestively between her thighs elicited a low growl rumbling from his chest and a sharp gasp from deep within her throat. 

“Fuck, Caroline…” he groaned.

“Hey!”

She froze—clinging onto him, eyes screwed shut, muscles taut, fingernails clawing down his leather-lad back—as Klaus ignored the bloke calling out to him and buried his nose in the juncture beneath her jaw.

Caroline knew exactly what he was doing.

A diversion.

His lithe frame fully encompassed her smaller one, effectively shielding her from view, and providing her with the best hiding spot. With her crammed into the small space, all the cops could see was his side profile and a woman’s leg around his waist, leaving little to the imagination on what was transpiring.

“Hey, you!”

Her head fell back on its own accord when she felt the faintest brush of his lips down the column of her neck, and inherently, she arched into him. Hazily, she registered the insistent barking of the authorities as they tried in vain to avert Klaus’ attention enough to question him about her whereabouts. He committed to his performance, forging indecent noises and subtly rocking into her, but the men were relentless.

“Forgive me, love,” he husked.

“What?” she breathed, gazing at him through hooded eyes. “What are you—”

One punctuated thrust had her crying out involuntarily.

There was a spew of furious German, which she later recognized to have come from Klaus, and after a string of hasty apologies, Caroline heard the group retreat.

“You alright, love?”

His tone was uncharacteristically tender, a stark contrast from the suffocating passion blooming between them just seconds ago, and gently, he set her down on shaky legs.

“Yeah,” she grated out. “Thanks.”

“Was Enzo sleeping on the job?”

An indignant grunt resounded in her ear, reminding her that her partner was still very much on the line and listening in on her and Klaus’ every interaction, including that little sexual episode. Caroline’s face flushed bright crimson, and instantly, she jerked away. Self-consciously, she fixed her dishevelled hair and straightened her outfit, gaze lowered to avoid having to witness the smugness she knew was evident in his expression.

“What are you doing here, Klaus?” she demanded irritably once she had recovered enough semblance of her poise.

“Surely you’ve learned by now, sweetheart, that I don’t owe you an explanation,” he replied. “Besides, I think it’s suffice to say that my appearance is a positive thing. I really doubt you’d enjoy prison, in this country or otherwise.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress for you to play the knight in shining armour to.”

He had the gall to wink at her. “Oh, I agree. You’re more the tempting siren; a right minx when you want to be.”

Enzo burst out in rude and loud cackles in her earpiece. “Ain’t that the truth, gorgeous.”

“Shut up, Enzo.”

Caroline heard a muted beep before Klaus was fishing out his cell phone. A frown quickly overtook his handsome—she begrudgingly admitted—features, and her brows furrowed in concern. He always seemed so composed, as though nothing could really rattle him, so she reckoned it had to be something major for him to seem worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“You need to get out of here right now,” he informed her, his tone somber, the vestiges of humor gone in one split second. “The Interpol, FBI and CIA are after you.”

“Shit!” she swore, turning around to inspect the alleyway. “You’re getting sloppy, Enzo.”

“Must I remind you that I can’t exactly control all of the security cameras in the city,” the other man groused, clearly miffed at being chastised. “I was too busy cracking into that footage hidden in the vase so that I can delete it before the authorities could make copies and identify you.”

“Give me a rendezvous point,” she instructed. “Pronto.”

“I’m sure that’s Klaus’ helicopter circling the airspace,” Enzo retorted. “Why don’t you hitch a ride from him?”

The man in question arched an eyebrow when she turned to glower at him. “What?”

“Do you have a fucking helicopter on the rooftop?”

His gaze trailed up to the sky, and then he was nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not exactly a fan of traffic.”

What she was about to ask from him was physically painful, not to mention a serious blow her rapidly deflating ego. Swallowing the bitter lump lodged in her throat.

“Do you—do you—” Squeezing her eyes shut, she blurted out, “Do you mind if I hitch a ride? I don’t even care where you’re heading to; you can drop me off at any place you want, and I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Well, I had considered offering you a first class ticket to join me in New Orleans—”

“Klaus—”

“But I know what your answer would be,” he cut her off, none of the maliciousness in his words. “That helicopter up there is yours, love. Consider it a birthday present.”

Needless to say, she was pleasantly shocked that he knew. Aware that she was gaping like a bloody idiot, Caroline blinked away the cloud of fuzziness bouncing about doing cartwheels in her belly.

“Why?”

**Magnetic everything about you**  
**You really got me now**

“Why not?”

 

The ghostly imprints where his hands had been haunted her otherwise peaceful dream, his lulling, hypnotic voice echoing in her ears, but she didn’t want it to end; didn’t want to wake up and face the disappointment again because she knew that whatever feelings and pent-up emotions she had for him could only ever remain in the realms of her fantasies.

**You do it to me so well**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**  
**Make me feel like someone else**  
**You got me talkin' in my sleep**

So she forced her eyes shut and promised to steal five minutes more.

And then it became ten.

Ten became thirty.

Thirty stretched on to fifty.

Two hours later, she was ignoring Enzo’s insistent knocking on her door. She was going to miss their combat training if she didn’t haul her ass out of bed. Still, she refused to acknowledge it for something better.

Something more satisfying than kicking her partner’s butt.

Something forbidden.

Something like Klaus Mikaelson ravaging her in the middle of The Louvre and taking her against the statue of La Victorie de Samonthrace whilst the crowd watched on with awe at their special ode to the masterpiece.

**I don't wanna come back down**  
**I don't wanna touch the ground**  
**Pacific ocean dug so deep**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**

Something she really needed to stay away from.

 

Enzo cornered her in the kitchen while she was preparing her morning coffee, sweaty and manky from his workout, wearing a surreptitious grin on his face and a knowing glint in his dark eyes. Clearly he was up to no good, and she was in no mood to entertain his whims. 

“What?” she muttered monotonously, hiding behind her mug.

“Klaus Mikaelson? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Scrunching her nose in repulsion, Caroline huffed dismissively and shoved at his drenched tank top to seat herself on the high stool. He tailed after her, propping himself down on the chair directly across, staring expectantly at her as though waiting to hear the best fucking story ever. She sighed and set her cup down on the center island.

“There’s nothing to tell, Enzo.”

“You know, it’s quite impressive how you’ve managed to hide your non-relationship from me for this long,” he snickered. “Very sneaky, indeed. Do the both of you meet on the rooftop every night too and exchange tips? Go out for cocktails and discuss deception methods—”

“Okay, stop,” she interjected with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not like that. He was waiting in my bedroom the night of the break-in, we had a talk, and then he’s just been sort of following me around ever since; that’s all.”

Enzo’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “And you failed to mention that to me before?”

“Yeah, because it didn’t matter.”

“So, you stole from him, and he could’ve called the cops, but he just, what, let you go?”

She shrugged. “That was pretty much it.”

“And now he’s stalking you around the world?”

“Yup,” she nodded, popping the syllable.

His teasing smile disappeared for a moment, replaced with a fierce protectiveness. “Do I need to have words with this bloke?”

She dragged out a long exhale. “No, you don’t.”

“Do I have to be worried?”

“No, Enzo.”

“Are you shagging him?”

“What—no!” she sputtered, coughing on the hot beverage. “Jesus Fucking Christ, this is hot!”

“Just like you and Klaus, apparently,” he couldn’t resist taking another playful jibe at her expense.

“God, would you stop already?” she grumbled. “Nothing is going on between me and Klaus. He’s just a creepy billionaire who is always one step ahead of us, and is set on rubbing it in my face at every possible opportunity.”

Enzo sobered up immediately. “What do you mean he’s always one step ahead of us?”

“I barely got away with the Florentine Diamond, and you know that,” she reminded him pointedly. “And do you remember the yacht in Cairo and that car auction in Monaco?”

The recognition was evident on his wide-eyed expression. “Son of a bitch.”

“He’s bad for business, Enzo. We need to get him off our radar.”

 

Escaping Klaus Mikaelson’s vigilant watch proved to be easier said than done. Caroline had lost count of the number of times she’d managed to successfully dodge the man, only to bump into him at the next stop.

She eluded him in Prague, only to be cornered in the basement of the Ashmolean. Losing the Giardinetti ring was still a sore subject, and she never wanted to talk about that embarrassingly nasty spill in Edinburgh when the cobblestones were slippery from the rain and she couldn’t run fast enough away from him. Enzo hadn’t lived it down for weeks after, until Caroline was ultimately so fed up with him, she set a few of his favourite boots on fire. 

**White threads on my laces**  
**Stuck on the hinges**  
**Swingin' the door to the to the back yard**

The blatant cat and mouse game had become tiresome, and quite frankly, she had grown to dread his appearance, no matter how much she had to convince herself that those pesky butterflies fluttering in her stomach was nothing more than misplaced attraction. She looked forward to his presence no more than she did her next dentist appointment.

**Got splinters walkin' tight ropes**  
**Spun like a bandage**  
**Touch on the outer surface**

She had even resorted to degrading back to smaller conquests—those treasures she knew for sure wouldn’t perk Klaus’ interests—and although they weren’t nearly as satisfying as the more lavish or highly sought after artefacts, it became her and Enzo’s bread and butter. Their bank account hadn’t suffered so much in five years. It had come to the point where she was simply going through the motions, a hollow shell of the thrill it used to be. They had even sold the house—just packed up and left one day—and bought a one-way ticket to Verona where they found a cosy little number up in the remote countryside.

A month passed; they kept their heads down and Caroline had yet to experience another encounter. She wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but it seemed that the longer they prolonged the inevitable, the more she felt on edge. The nagging feeling constantly lingered at the back of her head that he was hiding in the shadows, simply waiting for the right time to pounce when she least expected.

**Bright eyes of the solstice**  
**Wherever your mind is headed for a freight train city**

“How long were you planning on avoiding me, love?”

Her spine stiffened, immediately recognizing that confident drawl and distinct accent. The ripe avocado stayed frozen where she held it up to her nose, and she cursed the day she decided to break into his mansion and steal his prized possession. Setting the fruit back into the basket, Caroline took that short reprieve to gather her wits before fixing a mask of indifference and turning around to finally meet the face that had been weaving about in her sleep.

“Are you serious?” she huffed. “Take a hint.”

“And here I thought we were becoming friends,” he mused out loud. With hands tucked in the pockets of his pressed trousers, Klaus strode forward, bridging the gap between them. “How are you, love? Any interesting conquests recently?”

“Did you forget to upgrade your stalker radar while I was away?”

He reached out for her, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, but stopped short when she angled her head away. His fingers closed around empty space and his grin faltered just shy of being noticeable if she hadn’t been staring at his luscious lips. “I do miss that tongue of yours. Sharp wit is surprisingly hard to come by.”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse?” They would be drawing unnecessary attention soon if she wasn’t careful. “I left the country to get away from you. Why do you keep sniffing my tracks wherever I go? Are you that paranoid that I’d try to steal from you again? Is that it? Because let me make this very clear for you, Klaus Mikaelson, I’m not interested, and you poking your nose into my business is a big fucking hindrance to my job—one that, mind you, isn’t at all that much different from yours—so can you please, please, for the love of God, just leave me alone?”

If Caroline didn’t know any better, she would think she saw a flash of hurt in his captivating blue eyes before he nodded. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” The words were flying out of her mouth without preamble to her thoughts, and it was things like this that would get her in trouble, she just fucking knew it. “Because yes, I cover our connection with hostility, because yes, I was planning on avoiding you for the rest of my life, but if you promise to walk away and never come back, I will give you—a one-time offer—anything you want from me.”

That devilish twinkle was back, those damn dimples teasing her sanity. “That’s a very dangerous offer, Caroline.”

“I live for dangerous,” she told him bravely and took a step closer. “So what’s it going to be? What would it take for you to leave me alone?”

His hot breath fanned the side of her neck when he brought his lips to her ear. “The possibilities are endless, sweetheart. However, I just want your confession.”

She pulled away, brows furrowed. “My confession? I didn’t do anything. Confession about what?”

“Me.”

Her heart dropped; her mouth ran dry.

**Locked up till your moon lit**  
**Brushin' my hair back**  
**Feelin' ya lips on my cold neck**

“As soon as we’re done here, I’m going to walk away and I’m never coming back.” The resolution in his sharp features made her knees weak, and tried as she might, Caroline couldn’t bring herself to look away from his penetrating gaze. “You’ll never have to loathe the darkest parts of yourself that care for me in spite of all I’ve done. I will be gone, and you will be free. I just want you to be honest with me.”

Driven by impulse, she lifted a finger to trace the scratchy surface of his jawline, feeling the muscles twitch underneath her fleeting touch. “I need your promise, Klaus.”

“I will walk away, and I will never come back,” he grated out. “I promise.”

“Good.”

It didn’t matter that they were in the middle of a farmers market, in broad daylight with people going about their daily chores all around them; Caroline grabbed the lapels of his blazer and gave it a forceful yank. Their lips crashed, seized at each other in urgent desperation, and she whimpered as her mouth moulded perfectly with his. Dexterous fingers wove their way into the silky strands of her hair. He angled her head to deepen the kiss, extracting a gasping sigh from the depths of her throat when his tongue boldly swept across her plump lower seam and then plundered through with sleek, expert precision.

Fuck, she was utterly done for. 

“Wait, wait,” she rasped, immediately regretting the loss of contact. “We can’t—I mean, we’re in the middle—and there are people—”

His responding smirk ought to be banned in all five continents. “Not an exhibitionist then, love?”

“Not a fan of prison, thank you very much.”

“Would a penthouse suite suffice?” he asked in mock solemnness, trailing his palms down the length of her spine to rest on the small of her back.

She scrunched her nose. “That’s all you’ve got? A penthouse suite?”

“Sweetheart, my villa is a two-hour drive from here; I doubt you’d want to wait that long.”

Good point.

“Could you get us there in ten minutes?”

**Magnetic everything about you**  
**You really got me now**

“I could get us there in five.”

 

Clothes were shed haphazardly and carelessly flung aside in their mad scramble to rid themselves of any layers of fabric between them. Lips fused, unwilling to part as they raced to strip each other of any remaining articles. Restless hands skimmed over newly exposed flesh, where soft and supple met toned and lithe, and Caroline couldn’t resist raking her blunt fingernails down the long expanse of his back. Klaus’ responding groan rumbled from deep within his ribcage, vibrating against her heart as he buried his nose into the crook of her neck and dug his fingers into the swell of her hips, harshly tugging her flushed up against his hardened bulge, now separated only by a scrap of lace and a thin piece of cotton boxer briefs.

**You do it to me so well**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**

“Oh, God…”

His onslaught on her mouth as he planted bruising kisses stifled her needy whimpers. Wide palms cupped the round mounds of her rear, and with an appreciative squeeze, he effortlessly scooped her up into his arms. She withdrew from his exhilarating ministrations to lick a path up his jawline, tasting the saltiness on his skin, and then nipping at a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear. Taking immense gratification at the sudden falter in his steps, the blonde nimbly ground down on his straining member.

“Caroline…” he growled.

It was liberating to hold so much power over a man’s libido, especially one so egotistical and narcissistic as him. She reveled in every tremble and every involuntary sound he produced, yearning to hear more; to finally rob him of that infuriatingly aloof façade and leave him at her mercy. Entertaining such glorious prospects was about as fun as watching him struggle to make it to the bed. 

**Make me feel like someone else**  
**You got me talkin' in my sleep**

Caroline found herself naked and flat on her back before she could successfully appreciate the room’s impeccable décor. Their bodies melded into one; the velvety tip of his manhood hovered just shy of her slick entrance and she arched up into him, impatiently seeking the friction that she so desperately needed. Her thighs throbbed from the anticipation, heat pooled low in her belly, and she wasn’t above resorting to violence when he chuckled darkly into the dip in her collarbone.

“You’re a fucking bastard, has anyone ever tell you that?”

“Every damn day.”

In one swift maneuver, she rolled them over until he was splayed underneath and she was comfortably straddling him inches away from where he eagerly awaited her warmth. Absentmindedly, she mapped the intricate lines of the feather tattoo along his bicep, though her gaze never strayed from his.

Enough with the games; she was steering the ship from here on.

Sweeping her golden tresses over one shoulder, Caroline braced her arms on either side of his head, and languidly leaned forward to whisper against his swollen lips. “Today, we’re going to do things my way.” Gradually, with a crawling degree of slowness, she lowered her torso until her pert nipples fleetingly grazed his dewy flesh. Her eyes caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as her breasts flattened completely against his heaving chest.

“Whatever you say, love,” he rasped huskily.

Her grin turned obscenely deviant, and right when she thought he was about to make another witty remark, she sank down onto his rigid shaft in one smooth motion. The crisp inhale of air she pulled echoed off the walls.

“Fuck…” Klaus hissed, tightening his grip on her.

“Oh, God,” she sighed, her head lolling backwards as she got lost in the sensation of being so wholly stretched. “Stay still.”

“Has it been awhile, Caroline?” he teased, though it lacked the full spectrum of his usual cockiness.

“Shut up.”

She clenched around him, shifting to accommodate his generous girth and clamping his pulsing sex hard until he was fully buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go. The string of profanities he choked out in strangled syllables was as smouldering as the man himself. Half-drunk on the control she wielded over him, Caroline withdrew just marginally, paused to see him squirm, and then unapologetically slammed back down. Mercilessly, she began rutting against him, pounding frantically with a wild abandon as the suite hosted a litany of wanton moans and grunts, and breathless pleas and promises.

“Shit, Klaus, I’m close,” she panted.

He slipped one hand between them and found the pearly bud in the apex of her thighs. “Come.”

**I don't wanna come back down**  
**I don't wanna touch the ground**

With a simple flick of his wrist and a press of his thumb, she came apart above him. A beat later, he followed suit, hips bucking off the mattress as he emptied inside of her. She collapsed over his quivering form, sated and sweaty; her nose burrowed in his neck to calm her racing pulse.

“You promised,” she muttered drowsily.

She didn’t miss noticing how he tensed up for a split second.

“Tomorrow.”

**Pacific ocean dug so deep**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**

 

It occurred to her sometime in the night that she wasn’t in her own bed, and that she couldn’t hear Enzo’s irritable snoring from the next room, so fuck, she needed to get the hell out of there before her fellow hump buddy decide to rouse from his slumber and stir up an awkward situation.

Even so, as she clutched at the sheets and prepared to put her stealth training to good use, Caroline couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder at the man still peacefully snoozing, naked as the day he was born with the covers draped low across his pelvis, and marvelled at the innocent sight of him so vulnerable. The soft glow from the bedside lamp as they fell on his serene features made him look years younger, devoid of the guarded demeanour he presented to the world. His blonde curls were adorably dishevelled—the work of her fingers hours before—and involuntarily, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, remembering the countless other wonderful things that had happened.

That could never happen again.

She denied herself a second longer to dwell on the circumstances; best to avoid any forms of complications.

Hastily, she hunted down pieces of her outfit, finding one side of her shoe underneath the couch and the other tucked underneath her purse, nowhere near the hallway where they had entered. Her knickers were ruthlessly destroyed—he had ripped it clean down the middle—but she spotted her bra on the kitchen counter right next to his belt.

“Need my help with anything, love?”

Luck truly hated her, it seemed.

Klaus appeared deceptively casual, leaning against the doorjamb with arms crossed as he watched her with a hint of amusement swimming in those striking blue eyes. The corner of his lips curled up in a smirk, revealing one shallow dimple. Still topless and positively rumpled—though appropriately covered from waist down by a blanket—Caroline was accosted so strongly by a fresh bolt of desire, it took everything in her to tear her gaze away and focus on the pressing task at hand.

“No, thank you,” she said dismissively, hoping the ground would open up and swallow her whole. “I’m just about to leave.”

“Clearly.”

Her digits closed around the soft material of his dress shirt, now wrinkled after spending hours on the cold floor, and a spark of deviousness crossed her features. It took two to tango, after all. Turning her back on him, Caroline allowed the sheet to cascade deliberately down her nude form before pulling the button-down over her shoulders, not caring that it stretched over her breasts.

“I’m keeping this,” she remarked.

“I say you’ve definitely more than earned it.”

If he was set on being difficult, then she wasn’t staying around to entertain him. 

“Besides,” she added haughtily, snatching up the rest of her belongings and strutting her exit, ensuring that there was an extra sway in each step. “It looks so much better on me, anyway.”

“Goodbye, Caroline.”

She afforded him one last smile.

**Hypnotic takin' over me**

“Goodbye, Klaus.”

 

She had a close call in Cuba with a bunch of thugs who were more than trigger happy to blow her brains out for being a bit too quick with her hands and a little too distracting with her legs. They didn't appreciate her stealing the elusive Gauguin painting—presumably burnt during the Kunsthal Art theft—from right under their noses, but the car chase down the narrow roads had been rather memorable. The bullet holes would disagree, but that was Enzo’s fault for insisting they rented a less-than-competent sedan, effectively burning their deposit. That came out of his pocket for sure.

“You suck, Enzo,” Caroline groused as she wrung the salty seawater out of her hair. “Jet skis are for beach vacations, not as getaway vehicles.”

He shrugged unrepentantly, but managed to catch the cylindrical storage tube she tossed his way. “I thought it was cool in all those action movies.”

“Well, it’s not,” she snapped, miffed at the outcome because those Gucci boots were her favourite pair. “So please stop trying to drown me in the ocean.”

“I just reckoned that Klaus would swoop in to save you anyway.”

Her lungs constricted painfully in her chest because that was just fucking cruel. He knew of the deal, knew that it would be a sore subject for months, and yet he was dumb enough to go poking at it so soon after the incident.

Caroline tugged at the zipper of her sodden jacket with a rueful chuckle.

“No, he won’t.”

 

The ivory-white button-down received a spot next to her beloved Dior and Versace dresses. Faint traces of his heady musk still clung stubbornly onto the soft fabric, taunting her every night, as she stayed awake staring blankly at the ceiling and failing to disguise her wandering thoughts. Perhaps she ought to burn the shirt; put her out of her misery. In hindsight, it was bound to do more damage than anything to her self-preservation, and by extension, her life.

Curse that partner of hers and his callous words. He could use a lesson or two on exercising tact, if not for his benefit at least she wouldn’t have to constantly chastise his aggravatingly juvenile attempts. Sighing, she shifted onto her side, and even in the dim lights, Caroline could spy the single long sleeve poking out from between her clothes. With a groan, she threw the duvet off and got out of bed.

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep.

When Enzo asked about her peculiar choice of pyjamas during breakfast—loudly wondering if she had somehow managed to sneak a lucky bastard into her room undetected—Caroline barely concealed the bright flush in her cheeks behind her mug of coffee, mumbled something incoherent and swiftly ducked out of the kitchen.

 

Abu Dhabi gave her blisters for days and chaffing in places she didn’t even want to think about, but the tip from Katherine had been too irresistible to pass up. Cozying up to the Sheikh’s youngest son was simple enough. Pickpocketing his room key was even easier, but she wasn’t prepared for the six-foot bozo standing guard outside his door.

“I need a distraction, Enzo,” she murmured under her breath. “Ten extra points if you can incapacitate him.”

“From the van?” he asked incredulously. “Who am I? Klaus Mikaelson?”

“Be creative,” she hissed. “You have thirty seconds.”

The elevator alarm went off, and predictably the brute immediately left his station to investigate, muttering urgently into his earpiece in Arabic.

“Seriously?” she deadpanned. “That’s the best you can do?”

“T minus ten minutes and counting, gorgeous.”

“Fuck.”

An hour and a half later, she lost one side of her Louboutin shoes to a gross miscalculation on his part. Naturally, the heist was a success, the artefact in her possession, but honest to God, if Enzo wasn’t such a whiz with technology, she would’ve shipped his ass back to England for all the troubles he had caused to her wardrobe alone.

“Sorry, I hadn’t anticipated that bazooka,” he sheepishly admitted.

With narrowed eyes, Caroline pitched the other half of her high heels at him, narrowly missing his head by mere inches.

“Klaus would’ve.”

Last she heard, the man was in Athens, about five thousand kilometres away. Nevertheless, she knew that the four hours it would take for him to fly over in his private jet wouldn’t have stopped him from saving her.

All she needed to do was ask.

 

Enzo took her to see Tosca as an apology and a thank you for rescuing his sorry ass in Munich. He had found himself in a compromising position with a whore hell-bent on tying him to the bedposts and Caroline was left to complete the job blind, which was fine—because she was nothing if not entirely proficient and independent—until she almost lost a thumb and a toe from those damn lasers.

“This is utterly depressing,” she mumbled halfway through the first act. “Couldn’t you have secured tickets for _Rigoletto_ instead?”

Perched next to her in the box seats, Enzo clicked his tongue. “I don’t dictate what the Opéra de Monte-Carlo deems worthy of staging, Caroline.”

It wasn’t that she couldn’t appreciate one of Puccini’s masterpieces, and she did always love the sheer opulence of the historical architecture, but she reckoned she would enjoy _Wicked_ on Broadway a bit more; less pretentious that way.

“Besides, do you see that lady over there?” he gave a subtle tilt of his head down to the first couple of rows. “The one with the mustard-coloured dress and wearing the Tiffany Majestic diamond necklace.”

It wasn’t hard to miss.

“That’s Esther Mikaelson.”

Her head whipped around. “As in—”

Enzo nodded. “Klaus’ dear mother.”

“And the man, is that his dad?” Even as she asked, Caroline couldn’t help the sweep she made of the audience in search of a particular set of dirty blonde curls.

“Not bloody likely,” he snorted. “He’s dead and has been that way for a decade or so. No, that guy is Ansel—”

“ _The_ Ansel?” At a second glance, she wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s anti-climatic. I always pictured him to be less…common.”

“Here’s the deal, gorgeous,” Enzo began, a scheming glint in his dark chocolate eyes. “He has the La Chouette d’Or.”

“La Chouette d’Or?” she whispered. “You mean The Golden Owl?”

“The one and only,” he replied. “And rumour has it that he’s going to present it to Esther tonight when he asks for her hand in marriage.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “She really knows how to play hard to get. You’re not planning to steal it, are you?”

Technically, she was off-duty.

“Not bloody likely,” he snickered. “Ansel is brilliant at what he does. It would be mental to go up against him like that.”

“So why are you telling me this?”

“You were bored.”

 

She declined Enzo’s offer for a drink in the hotel bar later that evening and headed straight for their suite, eager for a nice long soak in the tub. Perhaps she might take a dip in their private outdoor Jacuzzi instead; it would be a tragic waste otherwise, especially on such a lovely night.

There was a beep as she unlocked the door, and her hand was poised to open it when she heard a muted scuffing of shoes coming from inside. Her spine went rigid and she froze on the spot. The first thing that came to her mind was if the authorities had somehow caught up to them, or worse; somebody was in there to steal from her. It would be a fruitless attempt, of course, because she was there for leisure and would be a rather stupid idea to carry along some priceless artefacts in her luggage.

Without thinking, she barged in.

The room was still and silent. Nothing seemed amiss; everything looked the way they did when she and Enzo had left that afternoon. Cautiously, she checked all the possible hiding spots, made sure all her stuff was still there and then did the same for her comrade’s valuables. She even made a quick sweep for bugs or planted explosives, but whoever had been in there hadn’t left a trace and was certainly gone now. He or she could’ve escaped through the windows or air vents, and the place didn’t appear ransacked at all. It could’ve been the wind; maybe she was being paranoid. Still, she ought to fetch for her partner and notify him. If their identities were compromised in any way, the best choice of action would be to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Living on the edge came with the territory of the job, as did travelling light, but damn it, she was just starting to enjoy Monte Carlo.

She stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the city, continuing her search for any signs of a break-in, and when she came up empty, Caroline wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

An object at the corner of her eye caught her attention.

There, on the balustrade, was a single red rose at its full bloom. Attached to it was a Polaroid snapshot of the notorious La Chouette d’Or. The words written at the bottom made her smile, despite the fact that he had intentionally gone against his promise to leave her alone.

_Come and get it, love._  
_K.M_

 

Caroline never could resist a challenge.

After a particularly tricky mission in Moscow, she felt the need to abandon her partner in favour of some well-deserved solitude in Santorini. It was just pure coincidence that he was there too—on the same fucking yacht, no less—because out of the hundreds and thousands of billionaires in the world, Klaus Mikaelson had to be best mates with the one Salvatore brother who wasn’t a complete douchebag.

Those blazing blue eyes were already locked onto her when she first noticed him, and from across the deck, he beckoned her with a slight raise of his champagne flute. She covered up her surprise with a sultry grin and managed to tame the butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach long enough to strut over. With every step she took, his maddening smirk grew, which made it all the more satisfying when she completely bypassed him to address the man on his left.

“Stefan!” she beamed as he enveloped her in a warm embrace.

“Nice of you to finally make it, Care,” he teased, dropping a chaste peck to her cheek. “You look stunning, as always. How’s Enzo been treating you?”

“He’s been slacking lately,” she replied easily, like it had always been with Stefan. “I might need to reconsider raising his salary.”

His boisterous laughter wafted with the winds, joined by a quiet chuckle from his side, reminding Stefan that they had company. “Oh, yes,” he chirped. “Caroline, I’d like you to meet a very close confidant of mine, Klaus Mikaelson. Klaus, this is the famous Caroline Forbes.”

Boldly, the Englishman took her hand, a wicked glint in those cerulean orbs, and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her knuckles, lingering too indecorously for a moment before his devilish tongue darted between his crimson lips to sweep across her skin.

“Pleasure, Ms Forbes,” he crooned, playing up his delicious accent.

At the risk of making a fool out of herself, Caroline simply hummed her acknowledgment. Someone she wasn’t familiar with called for Stefan, and after apologetically excusing himself with a promise that she enjoyed the party, the blonde unwillingly found herself stuck with the last person she had expected to be associated to her childhood friend.

“Can I offer you some champagne?”

She turned to glare at him. “What are you doing here, Klaus?”

“The same reason you are, I take it,” he quipped. “Unless of course you planned to borrow something from Stefan that you don’t intend to return.”

“You promised to walk away,” she hissed. “So you can’t just send me messages, or give me roses, or entice me to come to you, alright?”

“Apologies, love, I didn’t know my actions would upset you so,” he murmured, lowering his gaze to show her how genuine he was. “If I had been aware of your attendance today, I wouldn’t have agreed to Stefan’s invitation, but in my poor defence, the lad could be rather persuasive when he wants to be.”

His deadly charms weren’t going to work on her this time.

“Bullshit.” Pointing an accusing finger at him, she added, “you don’t do anything you don’t want to, so you knew I would be here. Stefan’s an ingenious conman, but he’s not that great. I hadn’t fallen for his lies since high school. So then, let me ask you again, Klaus Mikaelson; what are you doing here?”

He fell silent, a graveness overcoming his rugged features, the humor now absent in his stoic expression, and narrowed the gap between them. Instantly, she was encompassed by his musky scent, wafting around her like tempting swirls of seduction. Her breath hitched in her throat as the rough texture of his woollen jacket brushed against her arm, and all too soon, she was trapped in all that he represented.

“I need to make sure that you’re safe.”

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion. “Safe? From what?”

“The authorities are on your trail, Caroline,” he informed her solemnly. “They’re very close. You and Enzo should get out of Verona before they find you.”

There was defiance in the tilt of her chin. “And why do you care?”

That damn smirk was back, complete with those set of dimples. “As much as I hate to admit, you’re incredibly talented and passionate in what you do. It would be a shame to see it all go to waste, would it not?”

For a couple of moments, she held his unwavering stare. There were layers upon layers that she wanted to unravel, wanted to slowly peel away and reveal what was truly underneath all that façade. His words meant little to her in the face of such circumstances, though it was the sentiment behind his gesture that won her over.

“Fine,” she relented. “But if we’re going to be nice to each other, then I will need that glass of champagne.”

He plucked a flute from a roving server. “Is that our thing?”

Caroline scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“We don’t have a thing.”

 

They stumbled into a meeting room of sorts, and she barely registered the large conference table before she was propped up on top of it, the polished surface cool against her heated flesh. She watched through hooded lids as Klaus swiftly divested himself of the overcoat and then surged forward, situating himself between her parted legs to once again ardently capture her eager lips. Her fingers sought out the curls of his hair, entangling in his soft strands and moaning as he angled her head and deepened the kiss. The Manolo shoes slipped off her feet with a soft thud, clattering heedlessly to the ground.

**You do it to me so well**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**

It shouldn’t have been that simple to fall back into bad habits, but apparently, that concept didn’t apply to her.

He pulled away to nip a path down her jaw, trailing the column of her neck until he found that particular spot he favoured so much and began nuzzling into the juncture. “Come with me to New Orleans.”

“What?” she exhaled. “Why?”

“Why not?” he purred, palms grazing the sides of her breasts.

Gasping at the pleasurable sensation, Caroline hooked her thumbs through the loops of his trousers and yanked at his hips. Their synchronous groans ricocheted off the thin walls as his clothed erection pressed gratifyingly against her throbbing core through the lace thong now soaked from her arousal.

**Make me feel like someone else**  
**You got me talkin' in my sleep**

“I’ll think about it.”

“Caroline, love…” he husked, tugging at the strap of her dress to run his tongue across her collarbone while she worked on unbuckling his belt and freeing his manhood. “I can’t find the bloody zipper.”

“It’s on the right side,” she told him distractedly, wrapping her fist around his thick shaft. With a few quick strokes, his pelvis jerked involuntarily into her grasp. “Be gentle. This is Chanel.”

Her frock was off in seconds, nothing but a pool of emerald green satin on the floor, leaving her clad in only a sheer black Balconette bra and her ruined knickers. He paused to take her in, pupils blown wide and glazed over in unadulterated lust, and Caroline took that opportunity to memorize the sight of him so sinfully sexy in his gloriously mussed state, it ought to be a crime not to ravish him to her heart’s content.

**I don't wanna come back down**  
**I don't wanna touch the ground**

“Don’t,” he growled, as though reading her salacious thoughts.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t rip my shirt off,” he warned, half jokingly. “This is Tom Ford.”

“Eh,” she shrugged, popping the rest of his buttons. “I much prefer you in Hugo Boss, anyway.”

**Pacific ocean dug so deep**  
**Hypnotic takin' over me**

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Minutes before the yacht was set to dock, Stefan discreetly approached them looking both exasperated and concerned, and in all the years Caroline had known him, that was never a good sign. It just meant that he couldn’t decide between the lesser of two evils.

“Lower deck, now,” he informed them curtly.

He corralled them into the meeting room not unlike the one she and Klaus had been in earlier and gingerly closed the door. There was tension in his muscles that resonated in the air, and it set her immediately on edge. Caroline could tell that Klaus was too, judging by the way he straightened up and had his lips set in a thin line, but they both held their tongues and waited for Stefan to speak. The younger Salvatore did a quick sweep for bugs, despite the fact that it was his yacht, and finally turned to grant them his full attention.

“We have the guys from Interpol waiting at the Marina,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “Word is they’re looking for you, Care. Did you piss off a couple of Russians or something?”

She met Klaus’ thoughtful expression.

“Luxembourg,” they chorused.

“Well, you can definitely forget about raising Enzo’s salary now,” Stefan snorted. “He did a shit job at clearing out security footage.”

She scowled, already drafting up a million and one ways to whip him back into shape. Repercussions of his complacency were starting to get exhausting. “Oh, he’s going to be nothing but dust mites when I’m done with him.”

“I trust that you have an exit strategy, Stefan?” Klaus inquired with outmost professionalism. “Perhaps that shiny new toy of yours I’ve seen parked on your rear deck.”

Stefan released a long sigh of resignation and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s a four-million-dollar sub you’re talking about. I expect to have it returned in one piece, you get me, Mikaelson?”

“We’ll talk after Caroline and I get the hell out of here.”

 

Agitatedly, she paced the length of the balcony in a fluffy robe, fresh out of a shower, with her cell phone pressed against her ear, anxiously cursing for her partner to just fucking answer the call already. She could hear water running in the bathroom as Klaus sought to wash off all the dirt and grime that came with a hard day’s work dodging the authorities.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Fuck, Enzo, what took you so long?” she snapped, not in the mood for pleasantries.

“I was making spaghetti,” he deadpanned. “What’s got your panties in a twist? Is Santorini not doing it for you?”

“Not when I have the damn feds after me.”

She could imagine the exact moment it dawned on him. “Oh, shit. Are you all right? Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you right away.”

“No, I’m fine, but I’ll need you to hack into the Interpol’s records and erase everything they have on us, pronto. Klaus and I will be taking the jet out tonight, but you are to meet us in Louisiana.”

“Louisiana? And Klaus? What’s he doing there?”

As if on cue, the door to the en suite cracked open, and the man in question emerged with a towel around his waist. His hair was visibly damp; beads of water dotting his flushed skin, and her eyes immediately tracked a drop that glided down his abdominals—she desperately wanted to catch it with her tongue—before disappearing beneath the terrycloth. The dark ink from his tattoo glimmered underneath the dim lights, bathing him in a warm glow, and before she could fathom what her legs were doing, Caroline found herself within inches of his face.

**Hypnotic takin' over me**

“Swooping in to save me.”

He gave her a heart-stopping grin that spoke of an eternity of promises. She hung up on Enzo and didn’t hesitate when Klaus rested his forehead against hers and encircled his strong arms around her slender frame.

“Save you, huh?”

“Shut up,” she drawled, playing with the short strands at the base of his skull, peering coquettishly up at him through her lashes. “You know, this thing between us isn’t going to work, right? We’re both too emotionally unavailable right now, and I’m practically a wanted fugitive in all of Europe.”

“There’s too much work going into a relationship, anyway.”

She nodded. “Exactly, and I’d rather wrestle you to the ground than go out on a romantic date to the movies.”

His thumbs drew soothing circles on her lower back. “I do like my woman strong.”

“Not to mention smart,” she chimed in. 

“Perhaps you and I could discuss our heists over dinner sometime,” he echoed the words first spoken to her those months before. “And then settle our differences over dessert, preferably with you spread out on my bed and writhing underneath me.”

She caught on effortlessly, slipping out of his grasp to untie the knot around her waist. “I’m too smart to be seduced by you, Klaus.”

His eyes followed every single movement. “Well, that’s why I like you, Caroline.”

The robe fell open and a guttural growl escaped his throat.

“Just so you’re clear, we’re skipping dinner.”

Oh, those damn dimples.

**Hypnotic takin' over me**

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anybody noticed the line from The Man From U.N.C.L.E?
> 
> Song used: “Hypnotic” by Zella Day


End file.
